Still Yearning
by TwoPeonies
Summary: Ronan visits Adam, and things spiral out of control. Smut.


The search for his book ends with a knock on the door. It's a knock Adam knows well, anticipates even. Quiet yet urgent. Like a secret.

The door opens just as he's pulling himself up. The cheap plastic shelves abandoned, and his goal of locating the English Lit novel also. He stares at the figure at the threshold. Ronan smirks, leans on the doorframe with false nonchalance. His eyes darkened by something other than the room's insufficient lighting; his shoulders tense.

"Get in," Adam says. He doesn't know what to do with his hands. They itch to touch and grab, his pulse echoing inside his skull. Magnified.

Ronan doesn't say anything, but he's thinking. His mouth is a thin line of consideration. Should he or shouldn't he?

He does.

Ronan learns that it takes only three wide steps from the door to Adam's shelves. To Adam. And then he's kissing him.

Adam inhales as their mouths clash, not prepared for impact. Nose burning with Ronan's scent, his hands frantic. They're on his neck, and chest, and finally inside his shirt, clutching at his sides. Ronan's skin radiates heat.

"Ronan," he mumbles, hyperaware of the boy's mouth on his neck, of his hands pulling at his shirt's neckline, exposing more skin. "You'll ruin my one good sleeping shirt," he says, voice barely above a whisper.

Ronan stops, and for the moment that it takes him to speak, Adam is disappointed.

"You look better without it anyways."

The shirt comes off. If not for Ronan's radiating body heat, Adam would be cold. The small room heater is barely enough to keep a consistent temperature, and even then, he'd rather not use it. But Ronan is pressed against him, hands caressing down his chest and abdomen, mouth working its way down his jaw to his hearing ear, where Ronan's breath is heavy and every kiss is pronounced with a small "tsk".

Ronan wishes he could kiss every part of Adam. Each freckle, scar and bruise. Each millimetre of smooth skin. He kisses his ear, tongue tracing the cavernous surface, one hand in his hair, the other working on the button of his trousers. Adam releases a small, guttural moan. It's a gift that unravels Ronan almost completely.

For the second time, Adam murmurs his name. His voice is filled with yearn, but his hand grips Ronan's arm.

"What's wrong?" He asks, fingers falling away from the waistband. He's succeeded at unzipping the fly; Adam's plaid boxer shorts peek through curiously.

Adam shakes his head, "We shouldn't." His eyes are downcast, chest heaving. Grip loosens and he trails his fingers down Ronan's arm, traces the lines of his hand.

"Are you scared?" Ronan asks, because he's scared too.

Adam shakes his head, mouths "No," before he pulls Ronan into him. He pauses to look around the room, says, "I just don't know if the location is perfect."

Ronan smiles against his lips. "As long as the timing is," And they're kissing again.

It's after they've moved to the mattress that Ronan's shirt comes off, revealing the elaborate lines of his tattoo. It's also where he pulls down Adam's trousers, slowly and teasingly. Lying naked in the strange yellow light of his dingy room, Adam looks vulnerable, but stoic. Like a king mourning the loss of his army. Ronan's worship of him must be deserving of the title.

"Stop staring," Adam says, uncomfortable with how exposed he is in his arousal for Ronan. Each flicker of his gaze sends a shiver down his spine and to his cock.

Ronan would shoot back with a smart-ass answer, but he's struck speechless. Hopeless, really. He climbs over Adam, hitting his head on something to the side of the mattress in the process.

"Fuck,"

Adam pats the side of his head with his fingers, simultaneously extinguishing the pain and igniting a fire in his abdomen. Ronan tilts to kiss his hand, then drops down to kiss his lips.

It's an immeasurable pleasure to kiss Adam. It's an immeasurable pleasure to touch him, to feel his heart pound against the ribcage because of Ronan. It's an immeasurable pleasure to hear Adam's rugged breathing, broken by quiet, instinctive moans.

And it's an immeasurable pleasure to feel Ronan's lips tracing the curves and crevices of Adam's body, trailing down past his navel, past the sprinkle of hair that leads to-

"Oh," Adam says, his body trembling as the inevitable happens. He inhales sharply; watches Ronan lick the underside of his cock. Ronan looks back, smiles.

He hasn't done it before, but he's dreamt of it. He's dreamt of Adam especially, aroused and willing and pleading. His hands holding his head, his mouth agape.

And perhaps he willed it into reality, because Adam's mouth is agape, and his fingers run through Ronan's scalp, almost methodically. And Ronan takes all of him in his mouth, his tongue pressing and swirling. One, two. One, two. One, two. Salty and hot, and quivering.

"Ronan," Adam warns, his voice undone. "If you don't-"

But he doesn't finish the sentence because with a final thrust, he's at his peak, and he spills for Ronan, spine arching so beautifully, head thrown back, hands gripping at the white sheets.

When he stills, Adam is suddenly overwhelmed by reality. Here, in the church, with Ronan, doing holy, unspeakable things.

"Parrish?" Ronan asks cautiously, afraid he's done something wrong. Ready to be defensive.

Adam pulls him down, kisses him hard. He can taste the saltiness; proof that this hadn't been a dream. That Ronan did indeed just work him with his mouth. His hands trail down to Ronan's jeans, but he pulls them back.

"Not tonight," he says against Adam's cheek. Adam can feel Ronan's erection, swollen and angry and asking to be dealt with. Begging to be dealt with.

"You still need to study," he adds.

Adam raises an eyebrow. "So do you."

Ronan shrugs.

In the BMW, he closes his eyes and works on himself, reliving mere moments earlier. Adam's beautiful naked form, his moans, his hands raking through Ronan's scalp. He cums fast. Then drives away, still yearning.


End file.
